


Your silver stained skeleton

by Baryshnikov



Series: Where Monsters lie [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Insanity, M/M, POV Second Person, Sensual gore, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 21:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16354256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: You want to tear him apart





	Your silver stained skeleton

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be triply honest. Firstly, I don't know what in the Lord's name this actually is, so sorry. Secondly, originally I wrote this for another pairing as I never ever saw me writing a Harry fic, but I think these guys are better suited, so we're stuck with it now. Thirdly, keep your expectation low and you might be pleasantly surprised. 
> 
> Set from Tom's perspective in case there is any confusion

You see him. 

You wait for him to look. 

You know you are a monster and that you are so hungry, and he is so delicious that you can hardly stand to deny yourself. Every part of him is inundated with that fascinating magic, it is consuming you, it is all that you think about, all you dream about, it is all that you want. Your world has been infected and he is the disease. But what a wonderful disease he is. He is a pleasure to listen to and to look at and you cannot help but imagine his nails are made of crystal and his teeth pretty pearls, lips pink as that bubblegum Malfoy used to chew. You know he looks a bit like you, and you revel in the knowledge that he cannot escape from that, even when he is alone. That being so his skin must be made of ivory and how you want to peel it back and find that marble ribcage so stained with red. There is a horror in what you want but you cannot help yourself. You want to dip your hands amongst the stone-like organs, feel his liver whose surface is so smooth, and his lungs whose every bronchiole is woven with diamond dust. You are sure he does not bleed mortal blood, his blood is rivulets of gold, cascading through his veins and you would like to make him bleed just to know what his deepest fears taste like. Something inside you wants your hands to be forever stained with him. Forever trapped under your nails and permeated into your skin so that the colour never runs clean and you will never be without him. 

You know you are a monster even though you can’t explain why you want him torn open, body spread for you like a banquet, you just want it so badly. You are not obsessed, at least that is what you tell yourself, every day, you tell yourself, repeating it like a mantra, and yet, you know you cannot live without him and his pathetic words. This is a game now, and how you love games you know you’ll win. You cannot wait for the glory, to have what you now know you always needed. You know you should not be so fixated on him but how can you not? He is the most interesting thing that has happened here since you yourself, although you shy away from making those comparisons; that is a different dream for a different time. At night you lose yourself to sanctifying dreams, nasty twisted dreams of what you want to do to him. On those nights you wake up hot and panting and wondering whether he would let you strip his flesh from his bones and turn him all to powder. You know that he won’t let you do such things, but you also know that he can’t stop you doing what you want. 

You know you are a monster but still, you are afraid to admit you want to taste him, want to take bites out of that silky skin, want to leave red wine blemishes across a white canvas. Afraid because that means he is more to you than he should be. But you cannot stop yourself. You want to ruin his painful perfection, want to break his heart, deform his precious soul. How you want to crack that glassy exterior and find what mortal horrors lurk within his diamond shell because you are sure there are horrors. Somehow, he is too pretty not to have monsters crawling under his skin. You want to be the one to let them out, let him be who you’re sure he could, let him become a monster that could rival yourself. But you do not want an equal, you want a subservience, a servile creature who knows what depravity you revel in and is happy to lie with you in that blinding darkness. You want him to want to taste the cruelty on your tongue, to become addicted to that very distinct form of atrocity that you know so well. You will not lie, you only want him half alive, enough to use, enough to manipulate as you wish but not enough to challenge your authority. You know what you want is sick, but that no longer bothers you like it used to. Once you would have been scared to want someone like that, but now you have given into the sickness and you are not disappointed. 

You know you are a monster and that none of your dreams real, and yet you question your judgement, you wonder if you are mistaken, if he is already inside you. You have to admit that after so long, you are losing touch with what is real, the cold hands of reality do not hold you so close as they once did. Now they are disgusted, and they push you away. You feel like you know so much about him even though you have never met him. You do not know what he is like in reality because all you know is your twisted fantasy. The one who smiles so sweetly whenever you talk to him, the one who always listens so intently to what you have to say. The one who you want to cut open just below the ribs and dig your fingers into garnet lacerations and scrape his silver skeleton with the tips of your fingers. In your fantasy he would cry out against your hands, golden rubies spilling onto your fingers. In reality, you are not so sure. But that doesn’t remove the fact you want to reach into that cage and hold his beating heart in your hands. Watching it as it gives its last beat and his jewel-encrusted body breathes its last mortal breath. You want to be there as he dies, you want to feel that moment with him, you want to watch as all the trust in the world ebbs away and he is left: a corpse, and you, the master of death. 

He looks at you and you smile.

He smiles back, and you can’t wait to tear him apart.


End file.
